Missing Scenes
by Exiled-Away
Summary: A Series of "Missing Scenes" between Willow and Buffy. Repost of old Buffy and Willow stories. Femslash. The Body, The Gift, and Bring on The Night
1. The Body

The Body

We walk into the back door of Buffy's house. I watch as Giles carries the sleeping Dawn up to her room.

"Do you want some coffee or something, Will?" My best friend asks over her shoulder with a fake, polite smile. She continues to the sink even though I haven't answered her.

"I don't have any tea," she pauses just a beat and picks up a coffee mug that has 'the world's greatest mom' written on the side of it. Then I see her gather her formidable resolve and firmly place the cup in the automatic dishwasher.

I can't tell what's happening inside of her - I think she's still in shock over finding her mother - my mind shies away from the thought. I think I loved Joyce as more than my own mother. I have a reason to, it was always Joyce that remembered my birthdays and the person's name I was dating. I nearly chuckle when I recall Mrs. Summers' reaction to finding out about Tara and I. My real mother thought it was a political statement, not love.

"What so funny!" Buffy's demanding voice breaks into my thoughts, as I look up into the pale, drawn face of my best friend, and I feel guilty. I guess I did chuckle after all.

"Nothing, I'm sorry," I start contrite. Buffy just waves off my explanation turning back to the sink. And I see that formidable resolve crumble right in front of me.

"Ah, don't worry about it," the slayer begins then her voice trails off, and she picks up a wash rag. I notice that her hands are shaking when she turns on the water and wets the rag. Buffy's hands never shake; I know there is an explosion of emotion just under the surface and I hurt for her because she feels that she has to be strong-she doesn't! Not around me; she doesn't have to put on that tough slayer act, not for my sake.

I want to walk over to her and gather her into my arms and just hold her until she breaks down and, and ...

only I don't walk over there.

I can't.  
I remember the time when Angel was stalking her, that was the last time I saw her any where near this raw, when she's like this it isn't safe to just walk up and touch her. I'm not saying she would hurt me on purpose, not Buffy! She just doesn't have the control over her slayer reactions that she normally does.

As I said before, there is an explosion of rage and pain just under the surface and if I startle her, the slayer might react before Buffy can reel it in.

And I do fear the slayer.

I follow her into what Mrs. Summer's liked to call her 'reading room.' Buffy immediately drops down to her knees and begins to scrub a stain on the carpet.

I watch for a moment, she's scrubbing the stain so hard that the cloth rag is beginning to tear. I know it's useless to try and get her to stop, so I just sigh and go back into the kitchen.

I look in the frig to see if there is anything left to eat; I know Buffy hasn't eaten anything, since well, since....

She had forced one of those awful hospital sandwiches on Dawn while they waited for the doctor to check her out in the ER. Dawn only had a few scrapes from the vamp attack but the doctor insisted on giving her "just a little something for the pain."

She was asleep within a minute.

That was after Giles had taken him aside and explained that her mother had just died unexpectedly. And the doctor had been nice enough to give him an envelope with something for Buffy in it, too. That envelope I now had in the front pocket of my jeans.

I try to take a deep breath as I realize that I've been standing in front of the frig, lost in thought, for a good five minutes. I purposely close the door and go check on Buffy; she's still at it, the rag is in shambles and the carpet is beginning to look a little thread bare.

Of course the stain is still there, still apparent. Unlike Buffy's emotions, she seems to have pushed them back down again. The only way I can tell something's wrong with her is that she's trembling.

"Buffy, I don't think that stain is going to come out," I tell her mildly.

She glances up at me, her expressive face devoid of emotion, then she throws the rag down on the top of the stain. "I know, mom would be so angry..." she trails off once more. What is it about her that she can't finish a sentence?

Then I realize my thought and feel worse. I already feel terrible, so I can't feel bad, I just feel--worse.

I close off that line of thinking; I'm actually here for a reason, I'm here to try to get Buffy to take the sedative the doctor gave Giles for her. That's why Xander, Anya, and Tara went on patrol. Why Giles is up stairs with Dawn, so that I will have a chance to help Buffy. If we all ganged up on her then she would dig in her heels and never agree that she needed rest, that she needed to let go for one night and let me, ah, I mean us, take care of her.

It was a battle to keep her from going out on patrol tonight. It was finally Giles' suggestion that Dawn might wake up that kept Buffy inside and safe.

I think she must've drifted there for a minute because when I come back from remembering the battle in the ER over patrolling she's still sitting on the carpet next to the stain staring at nothing.

Or maybe she's staring at some kind microscopic flaw on the wall that she'll have to clean next--I don't know--I don't care.

I do know that tomorrow is going to be rough on her even she gets some sleep and food tonight.

Time to do my 'best friend's job.' I think as I walk around her then offer her a hand up. She jerks like I surprised her or she'd forgotten I was even there, which was probably the case, her forgetting I mean.

"Com'on," I say when she reaches up and lets me pull her to her feet. She only flinches a little when I don't let go of her hand and I wrap my other arm around her waist.

This touching is okay; touching her like this when she expects it is safe, within the rules and boundaries she's set-up as the slayer.

"I want you to do me a favor," I say as I start to lead her back to the kitchen. I know I'm cheating, Buffy could never refuse to help anyone, especially not me...there's another thought that needs to be closed down right away.

Closed down and locked away, because right now we're physically touching and there is something about Buffy that lets her know what other people are feeling, some part of her slayer sense that she can't cut off, sort of like Oz's sense of smell.

"What?" she croaks out, then pulls away from me when we enter the kitchen. I think my grief on top of hers is just too much for her to handle. I try not to take her distance personally. But, it still hurts.

I lock that away, too. I'm here for Buffy, whether she knows it or likes it, or will accept it. I have to try.

I gently reach for her shoulder and turn her around to face me making her look me in the eyes so she can see and understand that I have to help her. _'Just for tonight, just let me help you!'_ I try to tell her with my eyes because I know that if I said it out loud she would be embarrassed at the very least and totally reject our friendship at the worse.

Buffy always, always, thinks she has to be the strong one. The hero.

When I know I have her full attention I pull the envelope that has the pills in it out of my pocket. Keeping her eye contact I gently place two pills in her hand.

She glances down and then back up at me in surprise. Its like her eyes are searching my face, for what I have no idea, but I guess she finds her answer. She slowly, looks away towards the back door of the kitchen and nods. It feels like she can't admit it, though I think she's a little relieved.

I don't stop to think about it, I just get her a glass of water as fast as I can.

After she takes the pills, I'm momentary at a lost as to what to do. My whole reason for being here was to get her to take them and now I'm at a lost or maybe I am lost?

"Well, I guess I need a shower." She says and turns to leave.

"I guess," I say to make small talk. I don't know what to do; I'm confused by her surrender, her lack of fight. I admit I'm reeling and bit more than a little afraid that she accepted the sedative so easily.

She stops at the door to the dinning room, "um Willow?" Buffy asks without turning around, "Would you mind staying tonight? Like old times? We could have a slumber party?"

I'm in shock; or maybe more shock? I find that for about the millionth time I don't know what to think, so I stumble in answering her. "Yeah, sure."

This causes her to turn around and face me, to start with the apology, "that is if you and Tara don't..."

I have to cut her off, "Buffy! I would be happy to stay with you, I mean here." I correct hoping she didn't catch the goof.

She nods and turns back towards the stairs, only I think I hear her whisper, "you were right the first time, Will."

The End


	2. The Gift

The Gift

I'm sitting here watching over her; I can almost pretend that she's just asleep. That we're back in our dormroom and she's been hit in the head by some nasty demon or the other.

It used to be my job to watch her when Giles thought she might have a concussion. To wake her up every hour and shine a light in her eyes to make sure her pupil's retracted normally.

I can almost pretend that she's asleep; only this time if I try to wake her up she won't groan and complain and then laughing give in to my resolve face. She'll never again say, "do you have to Will?" or "Please just let me sleep."

She looks so beautiful and happy lying there. But, this stillness isn't right. Even when she would be knocked unconscious and be so still for minutes or even for an hour that my heart would ache-she was never this quiet-this devoid of...life.

I guess that's the joke, isn't it. She looks devoid of life because she is...she's dead. My best friend, my confidant, my secret love, what was the poem,

_'Come to me in my dreams....'_

Why didn't I tell her? Why couldn't I find the words? Maybe because it was so aching clear that she was as straight as a crossbow bolt? Okay, so that's not the metaphor most people would use; but it's what Buffy would have said.

I can almost pretend she's asleep; yet she will never wake. I will never again have the question of 'maybe' in my life. All my possible dreams are now over. The potential of would or could be...will never be known.

All I will ever have is _'come to me in my dreams.'_


	3. Bring On The Night

Bring On The Night

I'm watching her sleeping, it's a restless sleep.

I don't know if it's due to the pain of her injuries or nightmares from her ordeal. I thought she was dead, again. I'd never seen her so broken, so beaten—even when she died and fell from 7 stories—she didn't look this bad.

"How is she?" Xander whispers, entering into the bedroom.

"Sleeping." I whisper back to him, putting the book I wasn't reading on the night table and standing up from the chair I'd pulled over to be close to her.

"Aw, god, Willow; what are we going to do if Buffy can't beat that thing?"

Even in the darkened room, with only the reading lamp for light, I can see the haunted look in Xander's eyes. I know his next question: he had been the one to find her tonight, or considering it was almost dawn now, last night. He was the one that found the hole in the wall of the factory and the flash of light hair under the rubble.

"What if she can't beat it this time, Will?" He asks again, his voice pleading with me for reassurance. "Even when she…" He has to pause to swallow the choked sob, "Even when she died she didn't look this bad."

"I know," I answer, placing my hand on his shoulder. At the touch he pulls me into a hug. I feel his tears on my neck. His are matching mine at the moment.

I know what he's thinking, it's same thing that I am. It has nothing to do with the First Evil or the Uber-vamp; it has everything to do with our love for the incredibly strong woman lying in the bed five feet away.

It has nothing to do with what if she can't beat it, it has everything to do with: 'what if she dies?'

All the Potentials, all the people of Sunnydale that know about her, they all think she's indestructible. They all think she's this super-human being that can't be killed or hurt…. But Xander and I know differently. I've held her as she cried, I've washed the caked-on blood off her face after a battle, when she was too tired to do it. And… I straightened out her broken bones when she died.

Please God, don't make me do that again!

Xander had seen her dead one other time; when the Master had drowned her. He was the one that had scooped up her and frantically rushed her to the hospital when she had collapsed from a combination of the flu and a vicious beating from Angelus.

And he was the one who had carried her home tonight. He carried the bruised, bloodied, and barely conscious, Slayer back from her defeat. No, that's wrong. It wasn't a defeat, it was a ruthless, savage beating.

"I thought she was dead!" I want to shout in Xander's ear, instead I keep my voice down. She has incredible hearing, and even though I know she's asleep--I cast the spell-- I can never be too sure.

"Will, I know." And now it's Xander who's comforting me.

"She's going to out after this vamp-thing as soon as she can walk." I plead into his shirt, "she's going to go out to fight it because that's just the way she is." His arms tighten around me, he knows I'm right.

Where Buffy is concerned I'm always right…I…don't want to admit why I know my best friend so well. My other best friend takes a deep breath, then lets out a sigh, pushing away from me.

"Giles wants us downstairs for a big meeting" he tells me. The way he looks at me, with that incredible love and acceptance, makes me cringe. My best friend, my Yellow Crayon man, has figured out my true feelings for our savior. Has figured them out and is aware of things that, as of now, I don't want to think about or admit to myself. So he just turns away from me and tells me on his way out the room, "make sure she's comfortable and meet us in the dining room."

I nod and wrap my arms around my middle; I'm cold away from his embrace. I turn back to my sleeping friend. Even with the bruises, cuts, and black eyes she's still so, so beautiful. I pray that one day I'll have the nerve to tell her. I know she can never love me "that way", I have no hope of her love, I just want her to know, and when she dies again, I'll find a way to follow her

The End


End file.
